White Blank Page
by Chengwangofmacau
Summary: And it becomes too much for Loki Teen Loki! set after Agent of Asgard at some point rated M for mild violence and attempted suicide


Excuses, excuses, _excuses. _That's all that swept through his mind as the god walked back and forth through his apartment. His emerald eyes gazed over at the gaping hole that came from his brother throwing him out of the five story building. He hadn't gotten to fix his dislocated shoulder since everything happened, nor had he had the time to call anyone, because he needed someone. He ached for someone to come to him, to wrap him in their big or skinny arms and just whisper to him, whisper to him that he was all right, everything was alright, but everything was _not_ alright. Everything was spiraling down into an abyss full of uncertainty and helplessness and Loki couldn't claw his way out, he couldn't come up with a lie great enough to pull him from the stupor he managed to fall into. When it comes down to it, he's the god of lies, and lie he will, and people don's seem to remember that. With a barely audible hiss, he popped his shoulder back into it's socket, the pain flaring throughout the limb with each movement. Shining tears fell down his cheeks like liquid diamonds, oh how funny would it be if he cried diamonds instead of salty tears that were pesky enough to let slip but even worse when they got his pillow or shirt wet. He turned quickly, letting his left hand catch a decorative vase, sending the glass into the wall viciously. His long fingers enclosed on a glass that was set on the granite bar, his arm pitching forward as he threw the glass at the mirror that hung by the entryway.

"I hate you! I hate you! I wanna kill you!" he himself didn't know if he was yelling at Thor, or Verity, or even the All-mother or Sif and Hogun or even Lorelei and Sigurd. Or maybe he was yelling at King Loki, swearing that the man would die at his hands, that his own wrinkled neck would cave beneath his hands as they grasped and squeezed and his emerald eyes would watch as the last breath puffed by the evil mans chapped lips and there lie himself, much older and much dead. His brain sped faster and faster, eyes looking straight at the mirror.

"I hate you! I'll kill you! I will!" he could see there, King Loki lying in his own jumbled mess, dead and gone for good, next to him lays Thor, hammer over his caved head, blood running like rivers down to Loki' hands; Sif and the warriors three were lying not far from his brother, their weapons thrust through their heads and in Sifs case, her heart; the All-mother and father were hunched over twenty or so feet from Thor, their eyes wide with a thin trail of blood flowing down their placid faces. Salty tears streamed down his face quicker as he pulled himself from his thoughts

"No! Stop …...please! You've won!" Verity was hunched in the corner, eyes staring at the dead bodies, her glasses reflecting her tears and her terror of the god she once called a friend

"Loki! Please...please don't hurt me!" the gods heart broke as her strangled words called out to him, seemingly stabbing him painfully.

"I won't! I won't hurt you!" he cried back out to her, offering his hand to her, bloody palm up for her to grasp

"lies" the single whisper hit the boy like a brick wall, making him gasp softly and pull back out of his reverie. He openly sobbed, chest constricting painfully as he looked down at his closed fists. He wouldn't, _couldn't, _lie. He just couldn't, but Verity could see through every lie, and if...he wouldn't ever hurt her...would he? Emerald eyes glared back at the mirror, fists closing once more. The color drained from his knuckles, leaving them starch white. The mirror shattered into a million pieces when the fist connected with the glass, leaving small red smudges from the blood that escaped his knuckles and made it to his reflection. His eyes stared up at the reflection, his own face staring at him from the million piece mirror. The skin around his eyes was red and puffy, his usually vibrant green eyes were a dark moss color, making the tears shine and sparkle brighter in the low lighting. His golden headpiece lay on the table, letting his hair fall and cover his face slightly. The raven black locks looked greasy, tangled into large rats nests and sticking up in random places.

_But tell me now, where was my fault  
In loving you with my whole heart  
Oh, tell me now, where was my fault  
In loving you with my whole heart_

_A white blank page and a swelling rage, rage  
You did not think when you sent me to the brink, to the brink  
You desired my attention but denied my affections, my affections_

_So tell me now, where was my fault  
In loving you with my whole heart  
Oh tell me now, where was my fault  
In loving you with my whole heart_

_Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life  
Oh, lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life _

At some point in his break down, the radio turned on, playing the song of his despairs. He'd tried, he had tried, and his rage swelled over, he turned head down, staring at his bloody knuckles, then back up at his reflection

"I hate you, I want you dead, I hate **YOU** " again, his fist connected with the mirror, making some of the glass fall out of the frame and onto the wooden floor. His hands grasped the golden framing, ripping the mirror from the wall and sending it into the living area. The paint had ripped off along with the hook that held it up, leaving a stark white scar compared to the tan paint. His bleeding hands grabbed the edge of the wooden table that was under where the mirror was, and tipped it over, sending its contents to the floor.

"I hate everyone! Just leave me alone!" his voice was rapidly growing hoarse, but he didn't care, he continued yelling to the skies, to any heaven that would stand long enough to hear him. His mind traveled to a time long ago, when the vikings roamed all over and the Danish, Swedish, and Norwegians worshiped the gods and the few rebellious people worshiped him. He remembered better times of walking through the golden city of Asgard without a care, except that wasn't him, that was the original Loki, not him, not a parasite to the people, not a killer. His dagger sat defiantly against his thigh, feeling ten times heavier by the second. He knows the weapon well, he knows how easily it rips through skin and bone and muscle and how much blood wells from the wound inflicted to the person, how easily it slices through skin, how fast he'd bleed out. His hand involuntarily clasp on the weapons hilt, feeling the smooth leather, how easily it would be to just drag the weapon, let the blood well and choke him, and nobody would know. Nobody would know. Fresh tears sprung into his eyes. Nobody would know he was dead, nobody would know that he was in his apartment, lying on the floor with blood seeping out of his frail body rapidly, staining the wood. He couldn't kill, not himself or anybody else. Neither did he want to. He wanted to prove himself worthy, worthy of their love and their attention.

_And how can you say that your truth is better than ours?  
Shoulder to shoulder, now brother, we carry no arms  
And the blind man sleeps in the doorway his home  
If only I had an enemy bigger than my apathy I could have won_

_But I gave you all  
I gave you all  
I gave you all_

_Close my eyes for a while_  
_And force from the world a patient smile_

_But I gave you all  
I gave you all  
I gave you all_

_And you rip it from my hands  
And you swear it's all gone  
And you rip out all I had  
Just to say that you've won_

_And you rip it from my hands  
And you swear it's all gone  
And you rip out all I had  
Just to say that you've won, you've won  
Well, now you've won_

_But I gave you all  
I gave you all  
I gave you all _

His ears picked up the soft change in music, pulling a painful laugh from his lungs

"Mumford and sons marathon, huh?" he turned around, glaring out of the hole, the hole that gaped at him like an open wound, still oozing. His feet carried him over to the hole quickly, not even aware of his own movements until he was looking over the edge, down at the back alley that was noting but a river of black. '_like the river styx'_ he thought bitterly '_now tell me now where was my fault?' _the wind rushed up to meet his face, blowing his onyx black hair back from the air _'I really fucked it up this time' _the pavement was rushing up quickly, his body free falling down to the hard concrete _'but it was not your fault but mine' _with a sickening _**'THUD' **_he hit the pavement, his head bouncing off unmercifully. Blood seeped into every crook and cranny of the pavement, mixing with the little precipitation that lay on the ground. Emerald eyes slid shut as his pale lips tugged into a slight smile.


End file.
